Marriage preparatory course
by ClaireScott
Summary: Arthur Shelby has to improvise and finds himself on the wrong side of celibacy - but not for long. We know Arthur.
1. Chapter 1

„What the ...," Tommy mumbled and stopped in the doorway.

"What?" Arthur asked and tried to get a look over Tommy's shoulder. "Oh, fuck!"

"That's what I'd call a classic execution," Tommy said and entered the sacristy where he took a big step over Father Callum's dead body.

"Right between the eyes," Arthur stated and bit on his lower lip. "He must have known his murderer, mustn't he?"

"Aye," Tommy answered and looked around. "Hear that?" He then asked and lifted his head, listening closely.

Arthur nodded. Footsteps, fast, echoing through the nave, heels clicking on the lithic floor. There was a woman in the central aisle, without any doubt.

"Father Callum?" She asked in a hushed tone, matching the place she was in – one doesn't yell in church.

Tommy nodded with his head in the direction of the aisle and Arthur shook his head: "What the hell should I ..."

"Just go. Don't let her enter the sacristy. Whoever she is, she doesn't need to see this."

"But ..."

"Go. Improvise, holy mother of god!" Tommy hissed and shoved him out of the door.

Arthur took a deep breath and closed the door behind him, leaving Tommy with Father Callum's mortal remains behind.

"Father Callum?" Once again, her voice came from the middle aisle, nearer now.

"Good morning." Arthur greeted and stepped out of the shadows of the side aisle.

"Good morning. I'm sorry, I'm late." She gave him a smile and Arthur felt his heart stop for a second.

God, she was beautiful. He didn't think he'd seen someone so beautiful before. Her smile was warm and genuine, her dress caressed the most likely most perfect body he'd ever laid eyes on. Green eyes watched him and a little confusion let her furrow her brows. He, for sure, didn't look like a priest.

"Late?" Arthur asked and shook his head.

"We've got an appointment, Father Callum. I'm Maud Armstrong."

"I see," Arthur said slowly and squinted.

"My fiancé talked to you about the wedding. He asked you to give me some spiritual advice. But maybe you'd like to ... change ... first?"

"Change?"

"You're in plain clothes, Father Callum. What about your cassock?" She lifted one brow and gestured to his dark blue suit.

"Oh, oh ... yes, but ... no, I won't change right now. There's ... the cleaning lady in the sacristy." Arthur stuttered and hated himself for being so ... insecure.

But her beauty and her charisma made it impossible to think straight. Wait, did she say something about a fiancé? Oh, dammit! Fuck.

"Ah," she said with a nod. "So, where?"

Arthur was tempted to suggest a pub or a fucking teahouse, but this would be absolutely not being priest-like.

"Uhm, right here?" He said and pointed to one of the pew.

"Alright." She said with a smile and took a seat.

He sat down, right at her side and took a deep breath: "So, uhm, spiritual advice?"

"Regarding the marital life, Father. That's what my husband-to-be has in mind. I'm ... unfortunately, I might be catholic by christening, but ... I weren't raised in a catholic household. Andrew wants me to be a good Christian housewife and you know ... I'm not sure what he expects. I hoped you'd be able to help me."

"I see, I see. Now I remember. I'm sorry, I've been so busy during the last weeks. Easter and ... and all that ..." Arthur stopped himself in time, before the word 'shit' slipped out of his mouth. "So, I totally forgot about our appointment. Please, accept my apology."

Arthur tried to imitate the way Father Callum used to speak as good as he could.

"Apology accepted, Father Callum. So ...?"

"Yes?"

"Where to start?" She asked and shrugged.

"At the beginning?" Arthur suggested without even knowing what the beginning would imply.

"The wedding night?" She asked and blushed a bit. "Pretty straight forward but that's alright for me."

He cleared his throat, thought for a few long seconds about the newlywed Mrs. Arthur Shelby, née Maud Armstrong, spread out on white sheets, wearing nothing than red lipstick and a welcoming smile. He felt his cock harden, swallowed hard and asked: "What do you know about ... the consummation of marriage?"

"Nothing?" She answered and for the first time he sensed insecurity and a little bit of fear on her.

"That's not true," he stated and gave her a stern look.

Just as Father Callum had looked when he caught someone at a downright lie.

"Just what ... my foster mother has told me."

"And that's what exactly?"

"I have to do whatever Andrew wants me to do, without complaining, without delay. It's my duty as a wife to give him this pleasure. I'm not supposed to complain about the consummation, even if it hurts. I'm not allowed to deny him the access to my ... body. And, as a respectable, Christian wife I'm not allowed to ask for consummation. The consummation of marriage is the exclusive right of a husband and I have to grant him the exercise of his rights."

"That's ...," ' _pretty much bullshit'_ , he thought, but he had to be Father Callum, so he continued aloud "... that's what they tell all the young women. But ..."

She cocked her head and gave him a prompting look.

"If it's done right, you'll never have any reason to complain and ... and it won't hurt." He answered and felt that he started to sweat a little.

"What about Genesis 3:16?"

For someone who weren't raised catholic she seemed to know pretty much. He had absolutely no idea whatever was written in Genesis 3:16.

"Aye, that's ...," he stuttered, but – thank God – she went on: "I will multiply thy sorrows, and thy conceptions: in sorrow shalt thou bring forth children, and thou shalt be under thy husband's power, and he shall have dominion over thee."

"That's a little bit antiquated, don't you think?" Arthur said and nodded emphatically. "The ...the conception part, especially."

"I guess I do. But Andrew doesn't. And it takes me by surprise that you think it's antiquated." She furrowed her brows and gave him a thoughtful look. "What about lust? It's a sin. A deadly sin."

"Pretty much overrated," Arthur stated and lifted one eyebrow.

"Beg your pardon?" Maud asked and the confusion made her face even more attractive.

"Do you love him?" Arthur asked, eager to drop the theme – he wasn't the right man for discussions like this.

"I ... I don't know."

"That's what I've thought. How old are you, Miss Armstrong?"

"I'm turning 21 next month," she answered. "By the way, you know what's funny? Andrew speaks a lot about you and I had a clear picture of you in my mind. About 65 years old, a very well-fed, old-fashioned and principled man – and now you turn out to be pretty young, almost lean and very ... modern."

Arthur shrugged and cleared his throat: "See how you are mistaken." He nodded thoughtfully and went on: "I think ... you should marry someone you love. You shouldn't have to think about loving him or not. If you'd love him, you'd know."

"Father Callum?" Tommy's voice came from the sacristy. "We have to leave. The funeral of Mrs. Miller at St. Albert starts in about 30 minutes and you've promised Mr. Miller to attend the funeral."

Arthur asked himself for a split second, how Tommy was already listening and stood up, just to sit down again. He took her hands in his and whispered insistently: "Leave him, for God's sake, leave him, will you?"

He stood up, turned around and left the church at Tommy's side without looking back.

To his surprise, Tommy didn't drop one word about the miserable show he'd pulled off.


	2. Chapter 2

It was during the first week of October, on a cloudy and chilly evening, when he found himself in the foyer of a movie theatre, having a date with Adele Woodman, a girl with absolutely no interest in anything but sex – a truly great cocksucker and an uncomplicated fuck. A little smile tugged on his lips while he kept his eyes straight on the door of the ladies restroom, waiting for his little cocksucker to come out again.

"Father Callum was actually 68 years old. He was well-fed, very old-fashioned and most notably shot and killed on the morning you talked to me about my wedding night and tried to make me leave my fiancé."

Arthur flinched, looked to the left and couldn't help but smile. Maud Armstrong.

"After we learned about his death the following day I thought that you'd killed him." She stated and gave him a disapproving glance. "Andrew was very upset because I ... I discussed _very_ intimate things with the man who'd killed Father Callum. And ... I nearly broke down, because of fear and panic. Retroactive, so to say.

"I didn't kill him. We found him dead," Arthur answered and she nodded: "I know. They arrested two young boys from Smethwick for murder with robbery. They've found a few silver goblets and the collection box of St. Peter in their homes."

She cocked her head and watched him with that prompting look she'd given him on this memorable morning in May.

"I've heard about it. So ... did my advices worked out?" He then asked and, after a last look to the still closed restroom door, turned around to face her. "Did you leave that old-fashioned fiancé of yours, this bloke who don't want his wife to feel lust and fulfill her duties with joy?"

"I ... I did. You ... I hate to say it but you were right." She made a face and Arthur felt a wave of relief pulsing through his body.

"I'm always right."

"I see," she said with a smile. "And by the way – what's the name of the man who's always right? It's not Father Callum, that's all I know."

"Arthur Shelby. Always at your service, Miss Armstrong." Arthur answered and gave her a broad smile.

She didn't answer for a few seconds, and Arthur took a deep breath, before he looked her in the eyes, returning her intensive gaze.

"I liked talking to you. Back then, in church." She stated, so low that he was forced to come a bit closer to be able to hear her. "I wish we could've talked longer."

"So do I," Arthur answered and the smile on her face seemed to lighten up his whole existence.

She was ... she must be a kind of witch, making him feel things he never felt before. Lighten up his whole existence – what kind of fucking bullshit was that, holy mother of god? But this was what he felt, what he thought. And he was hooked in an instant. The first contact with Maud's charm, back then in the middle aisle of St. Peter, got him hooked. The second contact, right know, made an addict of him. He fell under her spell and was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

 _White linen, raindrops on the windows, a fireplace radiating warmth and light, peace in his mind and his soul, his body next to hers, over hers, under hers, skin on skin. Nose to nose, chest to chest. Delicate fingers roaming over the freckles on his shoulders, pausing in the second he enters her, slowly, nice and easy._

 _"_ _Arthur ...," she'd sigh and he'd sink deeper, until he'd be balls deep in the warmth and coziness that's incomparable with any other warmth in the world._

 _"'_ _M here," he'd whisper, and exactly that he would be: There, with her, only the two of them, no room for the war, for Tommy, for Billy Kimber, the races, the whiskey, Tokyo, money, for blood, pain and misery._

Pull yourself together, goddammit, Arthur Shelby, he thought, pushed the pictures in his head aside, but not without memorizing them for later, for the darkness of his room. He tried to concentrate on the conversation, to come back to topic: "I guess you never finished this ... what do they call it?"

"Marriage preparatory course," Maud answered and nodded: "I didn't finish, no. Father Callum was dead and his imitation was vanished into thin air. Until today."

"I'm sorry," Arthur answered and cleared his throat: "Tomorrow, at five, Bellham's Teahouse at Chesham Lane? They serve the best malt bread in town."

"I'll be there," Maud answered. "Have a nice evening, Mr. Shelby."

"Thank you. You too. Will I see you after the movie?" He asked and nodded to the auditorium.

"Oh, I'm not here for the movies. I was on my way home when I spotted you through the window." She answered and pointed to the entrance.

"I see. Have a good way home then. I'm looking forward to tomorrow." Arthur answered and she gave him a last smile before she turned around and left.

He took a deep breath and looked to the restroom door, still no Adele in sight. Fuck. Whatever she did in there, he'd lost any interest in her. The lips he truly wanted on his cock weren't hers. Forget Adele, he told himself, and left the movie theatre without looking back. Adele would find another cock to suck.

The next day, he was as nervous as on the evening he'd lost his virginity to Anna McRae, a mousy girl from the neighborhood, barely able to look him in the eyes. It had been hasty and short and, looking retrospectively at this fugacious encounter, pretty embarrassing. He'd lasted about twenty seconds, before he shot his load into the condom he'd stolen out of the nightstand of his father. He hadn't cared about Anna's pleasure for a single second, he hadn't even known that women are absolutely able to have an orgasm. He'd been told, just like Maud, that fucking was his right as a man, that women were here on this earth to care for him, to give him pleasure and to bear his children. He'd been taught that he could have any woman he wanted, he just had to take what he longed for.

He heard the voice in his head while he waited for Maud to arrive at the Teahouse.

 _"_ _This, boy, is a condom. You use it if you don't want her to be with child. You can fuck her mouth or her ass too if you don't want to get her pregnant, but if you long for her pussy, use this. If she's complaining while you use her, tell her she shall the fuck shut up, Arthur. If she goes on, a few slaps in the face will do the job, silencing her. If she cries and you don't like it, give her a real reason to cry. Next time she's gonna pull herself together, you'll see. If she denies the access to whatever hole you want to fuck, I recommend the belt or the cane. They learn fast, Arthur, but you have to be stern and strict, until she knows her place and how to behave in your presence. Don't get fooled by her tears or her begging for mercy. She'll walk all over you if you're soft."_

He lived by this for a year or two, until the day Tommy was about to lose his virginity and they've had a talk among brothers. Polly overheard the bullshit Arthur told Tommy and she was furious. She gave him hell, like no one gave him hell before. Sometimes he thought his ears were still ringing from the piece of her mind she gave him. He'd been so embarrassed he refused to talk to Polly for a whole month. He lived abstinently for about three months, thinking every day about the things his aunt had told him. Then he made a decision and went, for the first time in his life, to a whorehouse. He paid a beautiful woman – she'd been from the Orkneys – to teach him how to pleasure a women. And that she had. In a very long (and expensive) night she'd confirmed every detail of Polly's speech. In the grey light of the morning he'd confessed that he'd always wondered why there were word like 'caresses', 'endearment', 'gentleness' and 'tenderness' when no one seemed to be tender, gentle and caring. A sad, heartbreaking smile had been the only answer he got.

The war ended the eagerness of doing the right and good things instead of pure, heartless fucking. He didn't care about the whores he'd fucked. He wanted to forget, he wanted to relief stress, angst and the constant fear of death, just by feeling alive, fucking a girl in silence, his eyes on the wall, only eager to feel this tingle in his spine, announcing the orgasm. But now, with Maud in his fantasies, he wanted to go back on the way he'd first heard from Polly. The words "caresses", "gentleness" and "tenderness" were back in his mind, in his fantasies. And he wanted to live them.

"Mr. Shelby," Maud said and he looked up.

There she was, in all her beauty and her spell kicked in immediately.

"Miss Armstrong," he answered and stood up, "please, take a seat."

"Thank you."

Only seconds later he ordered Cream Tea and a serving of the fabulous malt bread and watched her in silence.

"Mr. Shelby," she started the conversation, "are you married?"

He shook his head and swallowed an inappropriate answer, something like 'I waited for you my whole life' or some other romantic and totally unduly bullshit. He had to leave, immediately. Otherwise he'd propose to her before the fucking Cream tea was served.


	3. Chapter 3

"Your opinions on marriage seemed to be very modern and progressive. Are you a supporter of women's rights?" She asked and Arthur looked up from his clenched fists.

"Uh ...," he answered and shrugged helplessly. "I ... I don't know. I'm a supporter of ... to be honest, Miss Armstrong, I'm not a ... part of the Birmingham upper class, my home is the underworld, the ganglands. I do my own politics, our own politics, and women's rights are not a part of my day to day business."

"Oh," she answered and bit on her lower lip.

The following silence was a little bit embarrassing, and he took a deep, relieved breath in the moment the waiter served them the Cream tea and the malt bread.

"Thank you," she said and gave the waiter a smile.

After drinking some tea and tasting the malt bread and the scones she stated: "That's heavenly, you were right. That's maybe the best Cream Tea and the best malt bread I've ever had."

Arthur, who hadn't touched his tea or the scones or the malt bread nodded: "It is. I'm glad you like it."

"So," she stated after another sip of the tea, "despite being a resident of the underworld you might have an opinion on women's rights?"

Once again, he shrugged. The discussion of women's suffrage, on women's rights had never drawn his interest. He didn't think that they would be able to enforce something like equality, not in the totally men controlled world they lived in. No clear-thinking politician would support women's rights. And what kind of power could women bring up to change this? Go on strike? Risible.

"Then maybe on marriage?"

"I ... since I came back from the war I never thought I would marry one day, so ... I don't know. Marriage doesn't concern me. At least that's what I thought until ..." He didn't finish the sentence and her smile did things in the pit of his stomach he never felt before.

"What would a woman have to expect if she agrees in marrying Arthur Shelby?"

He chuckled joylessly and shook his head. "Do you want the truth?"

"Of course."

"She has to expect a man who drinks too much, who's plagued by nightmares and mood swings, a man who isn't at home in many nights, a man who tends to violence and a quick and short temper." He stopped and looked to the floor, uncomfortable with his own frankness.

"And the positive aspects?" She asked and took another piece of malt bread.

"I don't think there are many," he answered and shook his head. "I'm ... old-fashioned and bad-mannered."

"I don't think that's true," she encouraged him. "And being old-fashioned doesn't mean that you're a bad person. Back in May you've talked about love and that a woman shouldn't have to complain, you implied that you know how to ... _do it_ without hurting your wife. You talked about love and you sounded like love is a very important thing in a marriage."

He smiled a little bit and nodded: "Aye, maybe that's one positive thing about me. I know what to do in the nights I'd be at home. I'm gentle ... no, no ... I _can_ be gentle and slow. And love ... I don't know if love is something men are able to feel. Maybe love is for women, to help them bear their fate. Guess marriage is a bit easier if you love your husband. It's most likely the pitch black hell if you don't."

"Maybe you're right," she answered and paused for a moment, clearly struggling with a fit of sadness. "How old are you, Mr. Shelby?" She asked and handed him the plate with the malt bread, so he could have a piece before she'd eaten it all by herself.

"Thank you. I'm 33. I was born on 9 August, 1887, here in Birmingham." Finally a question he was able to answer without feeling stupid or embarrassed or uncomfortable. "Where are you from? You're not from Birmingham. Otherwise you'd known my name and my ... reputation."

She nodded, smiling: "I'm from Barnsley. I moved to Birmingham after Andrew proposed. I've found a job as a switchboard operator at the Municipal Technical School at Suffolk Street. I like it there and I grew to like Birmingham, so I decided to stay after Andrew and I split up."

Arthur nodded, stirred with the spoon in his cup like there was nothing more interesting than his tea and said after a short pause: "I long for love, for being loved and for loving someone. I need someone who makes me forget the past, the present and the future. But my hopes ... are still unfulfilled. And with every year that passes my hopes fading. I'm not lovable, I guess. Every decent, respectable woman I've met was stark and stiff of fear because of my reputation. The whores only care for my money. You're the first one since 1915 who agreed in a date without being paid."

"I'm sorry to hear that. They don't know what they're missing, Mr. Shelby," Maud answered and added: "I'd go on a second date with you, without hesitation."

"Thank you. Would you mind calling me Arthur?" He asked and put the spoon aside.

"No, I wouldn't mind at all. I'm Maud."

"Aye. Maud." He whispered her name and looked up, still overwhelmed by her beauty. "You're so beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Thank you, Arthur." She answered and her smile got bigger. "But ..."

He flinched because he noticed that he must have said this aloud: "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ... go like a bull to the gate. What ... what are your opinions on marriage? We've talked about mine a lot ..."

"I grew up in a working class family. My foster parents seem to be pretty unhappy with each other. So I always hoped that I would find a man who's at least a bit sympathetic. And one who's not beating up his wife on a regular basis. My father, the biological one, died in prison when I was 14 years old. He'd been sentenced for killing my mother. He'd beaten her to dead because she bought milk instead of Absinthe. She'd made nettle soup for dinner. The soup had already been cold and the piece of bread he'd found in the kitchen had been mouldy." Maud looked on the tabletop and gave the half eaten piece of scones with clotted cream and jam a little push. "Her death sentence was a bottle of milk, bought for the child he'd fathered, a cold soup and a mouldy piece of bread. She was 23 years old. I can't imagine that he'd loved her. My foster parents weren't in love either, but there was no ... violence. They argued a lot, but he didn't beat her up."

"I'm sorry," Arthur answered lowly. "So sorry."

"So, long story short: I have no clue about love, neither the one affecting one's heart nor the one affecting the ... carnal side. I wish for love, too, of course, but I have no idea how to ... love someone. I've read a few books, love stories, by Jane Austen, for example, and I hope for someone who respects me, appreciates me and the work I do all day. I guess that's a basic for finding love, don't you think? Respect and appreciation."

"Aye," Arthur nodded and knew he wasn't the right man for her.

And he knew that she knew. He was just like her father, a ruthless bloke beating his wife to death because he drank too much, because she did something wrong in his eyes. This was a perfect description of Arthur fucking Shelby. This would be him if he ever decided to marry. He had to leave her alone, for god's sake.

A week later he received a letter, sent to his office. He opened the envelope and his heart stopped for a second after he'd read the first lines.

 _Mr. Arthur Shelby_

 _The Shelby Company Ltd._

 _Watery Lane_

 _Small Heath_

 _Dear Arthur._

 _Thank you for the wonderful tea time hour at Bellham's. I enjoyed our conversation very much and you gave me a few topics to think about, topics I want to discuss further. Next Thursday (21 October) I'll be at Bellham's for tea time. Maybe you want to join me. I am looking forward to seeing you again._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Maud Armstrong_

He placed the letter on the table and took a deep breath. His head still told him he was the wrong man for her. But his heart, dear god, his heart told him otherwise. He wanted her so much it hurt.


	4. Chapter 4

For the last Thursday of the year they'd agreed for a different kind of date. After meeting for the last nine Thursdays for tea time at Bellham's he'd suggested a dinner and here they were, for the very last time in 1920. The restaurant at the Greywalls Palace Hotel was, according to Tommy and Ada, the best in town, and Arthur tended to second this. The soup had been exquisite, the main course also and the chocolate cake with hot fudge and cream was so delicious he thought about ordering another serving for the first time in his life.

"That was heavenly, really wonderful. Thank you so much, Arthur, having dinner here had been a great idea," Maud smiled and placed the spoon on her dish.

He nodded and leant back, watching her like he did so often. Their conversation had been lively and delightful, just as on every Thursday.

Maud stifled a yawn and he lifted his eyebrows. She'd been so tired in the last weeks.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "The new neighbours are so ... incredibly loud. They're partying or arguing the whole night. I've barely slept since they moved in."

Arthur nodded. He would have to take care of this and he planned on doing so the very next day. These idiots had to learn to behave themselves and to be silent as a grave at night, if they don't want their bodies to move on a graveyard not later than next week.

He pulled a room key out of his pocket and placed it next to her plate: "Here."

"What's this?" She asked and gave him a confused look.

"Room number 17, first floor. Go upstairs. I'll follow in a few minutes."

"Why?" She asked and looked at the key like she'd never seen one before.

"I don't want anyone to see us going upstairs together. Nobody shall think bad of you or be able to ... blackmail you because of our ... relationship."

Maud gave him a long look he wasn't able to interpret before she stood up and left without any other word. And without the key. He followed her with his gaze and noticed that she not only left the restaurant, she left the whole fucking building, stepping on the street. Obviously, he did something wrong.

"Fuck!" He whispered, grabbed the key and followed her outside. "Maud!" He called, but she didn't stop. "Wait, Maud, please!"

She stopped and turned around and now he was able to see the anger in her mien.

"I am not a whore, Arthur," she said lowly and he was able to hear how much she fought against the tears.

"I know. Please, let me explain, will you?"

She nodded and now she'd lost the battle against the tears. He pulled her in his arms, embracing her, bringing his mouth to her hear, relieved he needn't say the things he wanted to tell her aloud. A whisper was always easier to manage than a loud speech.

"Number 17 has a fireplace with two armchairs standing in front of it. It's warm and cozy up there. I ... long for being alone with you, without a nosy audience. I wanted to offer you the room for the night. I want ... you to get some sleep. You look so tired, so exhausted, for a few weeks already."

"Aye?" She asked and he nodded, knowing that she was able to feel it.

She felt so perfect in his arms, she smelled so good and the warmth she was radiating seemed to warm him too.

"I only wanted to sit by the fire and talk a while, without being watched by so many people, without being on guard the whole time. I wanted to offer you a night of peaceful sleep. Trust me, Maud, that's all I had in mind."

"I ... thought you wanted to make me your ... whore."

"No, never. I'd lie if I said I don't want to show you how to make love, but I don't want you to make you my whore. You're too ... pure."

Of course he'd hoped for her to say yes, to spend some quality alone time with her. He'd booked this room because of the fireplace and the white linen sheets and now the cold December rain started to fall right in this minute and wouldn't stop for the whole night, he knew it. Just like in his fantasies.

"Please, go upstairs. You need sleep, luv, and it's pretty cold out here."

Once again he took the key out of his pocket and placed it in her hand. "Please, Maud. Let me take care of you. Trust me."

She nodded and left his embrace, just to stop in the movement: "I don't have a nightgown, I can't sleep here."

"There's a small parcel on the bed, in it you'll find what you need."

"Did you buy me a ... nightgown?" She asked and he nodded. "That's pretty indecent." She went on and he thought that he knew a lot of things which were even more indecent than wearing this particular nightgown.

"It's a very ... decent kind of nightgown, proper style." He said lowly and swallowed hard. "Nothing fancy or expensive."

The cold rain dripping in his neck didn't deaden the fantasies he had since he bought it. Of course he didn't lie – it was a high-necked, angle length piece of terrycloth, but he knew what he would find beneath the wrapping: the most exquisite, perfect body he'd ever laid hands on. Virgin skin.

"Paying a dinner and a hotel room, buying me a nightgown ... sounds like you want me to be your ... lady-love."

He swallowed hard and nodded: "I know."

He pointed to the restaurant and said: "You go upstairs and take a look at the room. I'm gonna pay the bill and have a whiskey at the bar. Then I'm gonna knock at your door and if you won't open, I'm gonna go home. If you open the door we'll talk by the fire, a few minutes, an hour, just as you like."

She nodded and walked away. Arthur sighed as she entered the hotel and followed her a few seconds later.

He'd waited twenty minutes and had skipped the whiskey. He didn't want to be too lightheaded and too open-hearted when they talked without an eavesdropping audience for the first time. Now he was standing in front of room No. 17 and knocked discreetly. He clenched his fist while he waited for the door to open.

Please, he thought, please. Let me in, Maud. I want you, I love you. I need this so much.

In the second the door opened he took a deep breath, relief flooded his body from head to toe and he felt a hint of happiness, for the first time in forever.

"Come in," she whispered and he entered the cozy room with a smile.

"Thank you, luv," he answered and got rid of his coat.

The voice in his head screamed to grab her, kiss her, throw her own the bed and take what was his since he first laid eyes on her. Take her, Arthur, just take her. She's a woman, you want her, take what you desire. She'll learn to bear it. Press her head in the pillows while you take her from behind, no one will hear a sound. The acoustic level in his head got louder and louder as the sound of war started, the screams of the wounded, the artillery, exploding shells, pattering earth and stones on helmets.

 _Take her, use her – Please, help me. Dear god, help me. – She's helpless, you're stronger. Take what you want from her. A woman is made to take, to bear, to conceive. – Medic, medic, here! We need a medic, fast! – Arthur, please, don't hurt me! – Arthur, please, help me, put me down, please! – A few slaps, a little bit of choking, take your spit if she's too dry for your liking. – One day there will be peace and I'm gonna sit by a fire with the woman I love. That's the day I dream about, Arthur. One day we'll be home and the war will be over._

"Arthur?" Maud said and he turned his head to look at her.

Slowly, the voices and the sound faded and he found back to the present day.

"Aye?" He asked, wondering for how long he'd been standing there, looking into nothingness.

"Come, take a seat."

He nodded mechanically, still not completely able to differ the past, the voices and the reality. He sat down and watched the fire for a few seconds, the warmth embracing him. He felt the desperate need to cry, to sit there and cry until there would be no tears left, but he couldn't.

He felt delicate fingers on the back of his hand and watched Maud intertwining their fingers. Her thumb caressed the skin on his own thumb and he wondered what she was up to.

"Maybe this helps ...," she whispered.

"Help with what?"

"Bringing you back." Her voice was soft and gentle and he knew that she knew what happened to him.

"It helps. Thank you."

The crackling of the fire was the only sound to be heard for a few minutes. Then Maud began to talk: "I've dreamt of you, a few nights ago."

He managed a little smile and asked: "Something good, I hope?"

"Aye. You kissed me, on my forehead, nose, mouth and my neck. You even kissed my collarbones."

"I'd love to do so." He answered and imagined how he would strip her naked while kissing her, gently, slowly, tenderly.

There was no need to take a woman by force if you know how to make her willing. Thanks to the whore from the Orkneys he knew every trick to make a woman scream in pleasure, to make a woman beg for more and more and more. A woman begging for more was so much sweeter than a woman begging in pain and horror for him to stop.

"On my way home from work, back in summer, I noticed a couple in an alley. Her upper body was naked and he kissed her ... breasts. He started sucking at her breasts like a baby." She said lowly and gave him a questioning look.

"The breasts of a woman are very ... appealing for a man, Maud. And, as far as I know, it's a good feeling for a woman to have her breasts kissed and sucked."

She nodded and he noticed her breathing going deeper.

"I always wanted to wait until I'm married, but now ... I'm not sure if waiting is a good concept."

"Waiting is ... bullshit. Life can be over. Maybe your husband turns out as an untalented prick in the bedroom. Buying a pig in a poke is never a good idea, especially when you're talking about a lifelong relationship."

"Don't you want your wife to be a virgin?"

"You are a virgin, Maud," he answered and gave her a little smile.

"But I'm not your wife."

"Not yet," Arthur answered lowly. "Not yet. I don't care if I take your virginity before or after we said our vows."

"You want to ... to marry me...?"

"I plan to do so."

"Oh ...," she whispered and then ... she smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

Maud bowed her head, hid the smile behind her hand. Seeing the delicate line of her neck, the tiny hairs glimmering in the light of the fire, woke his desire again. He wanted her back to be pressed against his chest, his left arm wrapped around her waist, his right hand right over her throat, ensuring she won't go anywhere, while he used her body for their mutual pleasure. He was already able to hear her moans, feel the thin layer of sweat between the bodies, he smelled the sweet scent of her arousal, mixed with her perfume. He wanted to split her with his cock, wanted to make her scream and beg, wanted to see a smile on her lips before she fell asleep. He wanted to set a counterpoint, dark and dirty, to the glimmering pureness of the tiny hairs on her delicate neck, if this would make any sense. It doesn't, but that was what he felt. The holier she seemed to be the stronger the need became to pull her into his darkness. Maybe because he was in desperate need of a light down there.

"What's so funny?" He asked hoarsely. "You laugh about my plans?"

"No, of course not. I'd never laugh about your plans or dreams, Arthur. That would be rude and inappropriate. I smiled because ... I'm flattered. It was a very sweet and lovely thing to say. Thank you for the compliment."

He nodded and stared into flames. A minute of silence passed and he cleared his throat: "I'll better go."

With two long strides he was at the coat rack and grabbed his coat.

"Arthur ...," Maud said and stood up.

"Aye?"

He turned around and gave her a prompting look. She came closer and took his hand in hers.

"You told me about your plans. May I ask about your dreams? The good ones, not the nightmares."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"I don't think that's a good idea. My dreams are always ... a hotbed of sin and vice. It's dark and dirty, nothing a ... decent woman would approve much less hear about."

"I see," Maud answered and the sad smile she gave him hit him hard.

"Sometimes ...," once again he cleared his throat, "sometimes I dream about being ... a man who's able to make a woman happy. Really happy. But the man who crawled out of the tunnels and the trenches isn't one to live a sunshiny life."

"I don't think that's true, Arthur," Maud answered lowly. "You're able to live a sunshiny life, a happy one, you deserve to be lucky, you just have to ..."

He shook his head, interrupting her: "No. You don't know nothing about the darkness, about the black pit my soul's become."

Maud didn't answer, she just held his hand, refusing to let him go.

"I ... I have to go. Now." He mumbled but she shook her head: "Why? We wanted to sit by the fire and talk without being on guard the whole time. It was your idea, your wish. Please, take a seat, Arthur. I didn't want to make feel affronted. Accept my apology, will you, please?"

"I ... I have to go," he repeated but still she didn't let go of his hand, quite the contrary, she started to caress the skin on the back of his hand.

"Don't," he whispered. "Don't make me stay. For your own good."

"Tell me what's on your mind, what do you see and hear right now? There is something plaguing you, am I right?"

"I hear ...," Arthur took a deep breath, "I hear the howl of a wolf."

"Aye?"

He nodded and swallowed hard. "We had heard them in the nights. They came out of the woods and ... if a wolf is hungry, he eats carrion too. They came out of the woods and had a feast on the battlefield. There were so many dead soldiers we weren't able to ... retrieve all bodies before darkness. I laid there and heard them howl and asked myself if I'd be on this cot the next night or if my body would be torn apart by a wolf pack." Arthur took a deep breath and shook his head.

"And? There's more, am I right?"

He nodded and whispered: "I always tried to ... shield myself from the howls by thinking of ... a naked woman in my bed. I thought about making love, of being tender and gentle, but ... the wolves ... their howling made me more and more aggressive. And my fantasies turned from gentleness ... to something dark, brutal and animalistic. I heard the wolf pack and my imagination turned red, all was red, a flaming red. And there was this woman, naked, and I took her like ... like an animal, like a wolf. I mounted her like ... canids do it, I split her, tore her apart while I fucked her brutally. In my head I didn't care about her, I bit her, made her scream. I ... guess I raped her. And the wolves stopped howling in the moment she was conquered, half dead and filled with my seed."

"You want to go because you hear the wolves right now?" Maud asked lowly and he nodded: "If I stay, I could lose control. I could ... hurt you. Rape you. To make them stop howling, to ease my mind."

Still, she held his hand, caressing the skin.

"But ...," she started and a surprised, little scream followed when he grabbed her, turned her around and pressed her back against his chest, his arm around her waist, his hand on her throat: "I'm dangerous, Maud. Out of control. I see my range of vision turning red on the edges. Not long until all is red and you find yourself lying on the bed with me on top of you. Do you want this?" He asked hoarsely at her ear, his voice low and deep, his breathing ragged and fast.

"No," she whispered.

"I thought as much," he answered and let go of her. "It was a bad idea to be alone with you, without the audience protecting you. I'm sorry, luv."

He barely made it out of the hotel room before the wolf pack started the deafening howl that turned his world into a bloody, red, brutal mess.

In the moment the howling stopped he found himself in a box ring, a severely beaten combatant lying to his feet, his face a bloody pulp. Everywhere he looked he saw blood and the glimmering eyes of the wolf pack that was hiding in the shadows, waiting for their leader to step out of the light into the darkness. Arthur sank on his knees and started crying, realizing that the wolves would never leave him. He was the leader of the pack and wherever he went, they would follow. And if he didn't want Maud to be their prey he had to leave her alone, to keep back from her.


	6. Chapter 6

"There's a visitor for you, Arthur," Polly's voice said and then: "Come in."

Arthur dropped the newspaper and took the feet from the tabletop of his desk.

"Thank you, Mrs. Gray," Maud said and entered his office. "Good morning. Do you have a minute?"

He nodded and pointed to the chair in front of the desk. For a few seconds there was only silence, a big one, uncomfortable and heavy.

"I missed you," she then stated. "I've been waiting for you every Thursday at Bellham's, but you didn't show up."

He nodded. He knew, he had been there, on the opposite side of the road, and had watched her having Cream Tea and malt bread. He'd followed her home, making sure she was safe, he'd threatened the neighbours to make sure she was able to sleep. He checked every night that there was silence in the house she lived in. The neigbours had been very understanding and now there was peace, from 9 pm to 6:30 am, the house was as quiet as a damn cemetery. Maud looked better, better than ever, rested and relaxed. They hadn't talked for six weeks now. Six Thursdays without the tea time at Bellham's, six Mondays, six Tuesdays, six fucking Wednesdays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays without her company, without him talking to her. What a wilful waste of shared time.

"I finished the marriage preparatory course," Maud told him, "with Father Matthew, Father Callum's successor."

Again, he nodded. He knew. He'd monitored her life with the help of a few Peaky Blinders.

"Did you knock your plans on the head?" She asked and he furrowed his brows: "Which plans?"

"To marry me. You know, it's pretty complicated to marry a woman you refuse to meet, to talk to, to ..."

"Maud," he interrupted her, "I was so close to hurt you, to ... bloody rape you. I'm no good, I'm broken and ... I don't want you to get hurt. So, yes, sadly, I dropped my plan of marrying you. I sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned it. I didn't want you to ... feel hope where is none."

"Father Matthew said, rape doesn't exist in a marriage. It's the right of the husband to ... you know, right? So there is no rape. A married woman can't be raped by her husband, that's not possible. And if my husband is hurting me, I probably don't love him enough and deserved it."

Arthur took a deep breath and massaged the bridge of his nose: "Aye, there's no rape in a marriage. Not according to the law. If I rob a bank in London, what do you call me?"

"A bank robber."

"Right. What do you call me if I rob a bank here in Birmingham, in my hometown?"

"Still a bank robber," Maud said with a frown.

"See? And that's why priests and virgins shouldn't talk about things they have no clue of. If I fuck a random woman I met on the street against her will, it's rape and I get arrested. If I violate my wife in the same way I violated the woman on the street, it's alright and no one cares. There is rape in a marriage, Maud. But in the marital bed it's not forbidden. That's all."

Maud swallowed hard and nodded slowly.

"Will you be ... at Bellham's on Thursday?" He asked after a few seconds.

Again, a nod.

"I'll be there," he said lowly. "I missed you too."

With two long strides he was around the desk, at her side and hunkered down, next to her chair. Her scent surrounded him, made him want her even more.

"I ... want you. I want to give us a chance, Arthur. I'm in love with you. I'm willing to run the risk of being hurt. I don't think you'll hurt me, but if you do, we still can go separate ways. Please, Arthur, give us a chance."

Slowly, he nodded: "Aye."

Maud placed her hand on his cheek and caressed the stubby skin. He rose and pulled her with him, up and in his embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed lowly. Like so often in her presence his head came up with pictures, the most of them horrible.

 _He saw her lying on their marital bed, coiled up and crying silently, he noticed blood on the sheets and strangulation marks on her neck. He knew, this was his work, his fault. He could already taste the salt in her tears as he kissed them away, while pleading for forgiveness. I lost control, the wolves howled and all turned red. What did I do to you? Did I hit you? Where are you bleeding? Shall I call for the doctor? I'm sorry, luv, so sorry. I better go. I ... go and send Polly to ... to look after you. I told you, I'm broken. I told you, I'm no good. I love you, Maud, I love you. And I understand if you hate me. He petted over her shoulder and she flinched, she fled from his touch. No, no, Arthur, please, you're hurting me, please, stop! Her voice shrilled ear-battering in his head, her useless pleading for mercy, although she'd only whispered the words. He hadn't been able to hear her from the time when the wolves started their deafening howl. Not until they stopped, not until the rage was over, the prey conquered and his balls empty. He looked down, on his flaccid cock, on the drops of semen pouring out of her pussy. He'd raped her. He took by force what she had given him by choice for so many times. He destroyed everything he had, the only good in his life, he took her smile and her love and turned it into tears and hate. He'd raped her. He. Had. Raped. His. Own. Wife. His. Own. Fucking. Wife. Again._

 _Please, go. Leave me alone, don't touch me, please. She pressed her hands on her lower belly and cried hysterically. His gaze was glued to the semen seeping out of her pussy. He obviously hadn't used a condom. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Then he turned around and left for a drink at a pub. He didn't do anything illegal. He'd consummated the marriage, he had only performed his rights as a husband. Maud would have to deal with it. Maybe she would give birth to another child. Just like nearly every time he'd raped her during the last years._

He made a decision and pushed the disturbing pictures aside: "Tea at Bellham's, dinner at the Greywall's Palace Hotel. Do you want me ...?"

"To book a room?" She completed his question and nodded: "Yes. I want to be alone with you. I trust you, Arthur. You're gonna leave if I'm in danger."

"Aye."

He already had a plan how to protect her from the wolves. It was a shitty plan and not feasible for a long-term relationship, but for one evening it would do the job. First things first, he thought and then he kissed her, for the first time and it felt so incredibly good that he got hooked in an instant.

"Maud," he whispered between kisses, "please ..."

"Please?" She asked and he used the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth.

For a second she froze, then she carefully answered his kiss.

"I want you," he whispered, "so much."

She pulled back and smiled so brightly, she looked so happy that all his dark thoughts vanished into thin air.

They kissed until Polly knocked on the door, announcing another visitor, someone not so pretty and considerably less kissable, but, unfortunately, important for business.

"Thursday?" She asked and he nodded: "Don't be afraid, aye?"

"Never." She smiled and left.

It was room No. 25, this time. The honeymoon suite. Two rooms and a bathroom, a fireplace in both rooms. He'd ordered some sparkling wine and whiskey, and had already placed condoms on the bedside table. Planning was everything. Behind the connecting door two of his men played cards. He'd ordered to stay sober and have an ear for the bedroom. If they would hear a woman cry for help they should enter the bedroom and fucking help her, knocking him down if necessary. So if he failed in retaining control there would be help for Maud within seconds.

"What's behind this door?" Maud asked after having a look around.

"The living room area. It's the honeymoon suite."

"Can I have a look?" She asked and he shook his head: "Better not before tomorrow morning. There are two of my men in the living room area and I don't think you want to meet them."

"Why they are here?" Maud asked and frowned.

"For your protection. You call for help and they'll come in. They've got the order to knock me down if I lose control and hurt you."

"We won't need them, Arthur," she answered lowly and took a step towards him.

"I hope so. But prudence is the better part of valour, right?"

"Aye," she nodded and cleared her throat: "I'm a bit nervous."

"There's no need to be nervous, luv. I promise, I'll make it good for ya." He whispered and leaned in for a kiss.

* * *

Feedback, anyone? You've come so far - I love to read what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

"I don't know what to do. You'll have to tell me," Maud said lowly between two of the hundreds of kisses they shared.

"I will," he answered hoarsely. "What ... do you crave right now, darling? Is there something you want more than anything else?"

Arthur let go of her and took a step back. It had been so very hard to say something like this, he'd never asked anything similar before. He'd followed his instincts – and after Anna McRea he never had had a virgin. He'd always fucked women who knew what to do, what they wanted, what they liked. He wasn't a man who talked more than necessary, not outside the bedroom, and least of all in the bedroom.

Maud's gaze dropped to his chest and she nodded: "Could you ... take your shirt off? I want to feel more of your skin."

"Sure," he answered and got rid of waistcoat, shirt and undershirt. "Come here. Touch me."

He made a summoning gesture and she came nearer, placed her hand on his chest, very careful, as if he could break into pieces.

"Freckles," she whispered and caressed over his breastbone.

"Aye." He nodded and noticed the contrast between her delicate fingers and his pale, freckled skin. Like Fine Bone China on a stained and cracked wax paper.

She bowed her head and let her forehead rest on his chest. He felt her breath on his skin, the heat radiating from her body. Red, hot, a storm of red hotness swelled up from his feet over his cock, his belly, his chest to his neck, the storm would reach his range of vision and all would be red and brutal and over.

 _Turn her around, take her from behind, fuck her like the animal you are, the pack is watching in the shadows._

"Arthur?" Maud whispered. "Are you alright?"

"Aye." More a grunt than a decent answer.

He needed ... liquid. A drink. Or ... something sweet.

With one smooth movement he pushed Maud to the edge of the bed and lifted her skirt over her hips, fumbled with her underpants and sank on his knees in the moment he'd freed her pussy from all that annoying material.

"Arthur!" She gasped and tried to cover her sex with her hands.

He shook his head and lifted her legs, placed her thighs on his shoulders and grabbed her wrists, forced them away, pressed them on the mattress. He needed something sweet and her scent made his mouth water in anticipation. He parted her labia with his nose, inhaling deeply, and licked from her pussy to her clitoris. Her reaction made him smile widely – Maud moaned and her body tensed. He repeated the movement of his tongue and now his name slipped over her lips. Once more, faster, with more pressure and her hips rose, he felt her thighs on his shoulders moving.

"Lay still," he whispered. "Just enjoy."

She tasted fresh, sweet and a little bit like a good cup of Earl Grey, satisfying his thirst in an instant. He felt the red storm calming down, the red hotness backing down to his cock, where this feeling was welcomed and natural.

Carefully he sucked at her clit, nibbled at her labia, her wrists still held down by his hand. She moaned and winced and begged without knowing what to ask for. He let go of her left wrist and started to massage her perineum before he slipped one finger into her pussy. He fucked her slowly while he continued to feast on her clitoris. Her free hand found his head, her fingers made a mess with his hair, searching for hold, for more friction. She was close, very close, he was able to feel her pussy starting to pulse.

"Art ... Arthur, oh, oh, what ... oh, god, what are you ... doing, god, Arthur!"

He didn't answer, he just smiled and sucked her clitoris in his mouth, hard and fast.

"ARTHUR!" She screamed, her body tensed and her pussy convulsed around his finger.

He went on and on and on, he prolonged her orgasm and sent her right in the next one after the first one faded. She sobbed and he felt her nails scratching over his scalp, a desperate attempt to find hold in this unexpected storm he'd sent her in, a storm that calmed is own troubled soul in equally unexpected ways. He stopped with any movement, stopped fucking her with his finger, stopped sucking at the little nub, stopped licking. He breathed deeply, in, hold, out. In, hold, out. He smelled her arousal, her sweat, he felt the damp skin of her thighs on his cheeks, he noticed that his mustache was soaked with her wetness, that her arousal dripped from his chin on his still clothed legs.

The room was silent, her breathing slowly going back to normal, he felt like the earth stopped moving and the time stood still too. The wolf pack had left and he was all alone with Maud.

She lay still, perfectly still, two minutes, three, then her legs started to tremble and he stood up, started to undress her. He kissed her while he fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, let her taste her own arousal. Once she was naked he cleared his throat: "I'm sorry, luv. I had to taste you, to ... I wasn't able to wait any longer, because ..."

She shook her head and smiled, her hand caressed his cheek. Arthur felt for the condoms on the nightstand and took one out of the box.

"Wanna fuck you, luv. Guess you're ready, aren't you?"

She shrugged and whispered: "I don't know. Am I?"

He nodded and rolled the condom over his throbbing cock, before he settled himself between her legs and spread them wide.

"It feels so ... obscene to lie like this," she whispered and closed her eyes, obviously ashamed.

"Aye," he answered and gave his cock a few lazy strokes, his eyes focused on the wetness that glistened between her slightly spread labia.

"Is there a word for ... for what you did to me?" She whispered.

"Why?" He asked with a grin. "So you can beg me to do it again?"

Maud blushed and nodded.

"You liked it," he stated and bent over, nose to nose, his cock nudging at her entrance. "Aye, you did. I made you cum with my mouth, luv. Some men call it eating pussy. Usually you don't start the consummation with eating pussy, but ... I had to, I needed to taste you."

While talking, he slid slowly into her, less than in inch, until he felt the barrier. Her eyes got wide and her mouth dropped open. Suddenly he understood the men who were keen on deflowering virgins. The facial expression of a woman feeling a cock sliding in her for the first time was worth the work you've got to get her in a bed. Maud looked up at him and he watched her process of understanding with awe.

"Shhh," he soothed, lifted his hips and broke the barrier, pressed himself balls deep into her body, her pussy clenching his cock like a iron fist. "It'll be better in a minute, luv," he soothed and added under his breath: "Fuck, Maud, your pussy's so damn tight, fucking perfect."

She swallowed hard and he caressed her cheek before he lifted her leg over his hip: "Breathe, will you? Remember how good it felt a few minutes ago, with my finger in your pussy? Gonna make you feel this again, this time with my cock. It'll be even better, trust me, do you?"

"I do," she whispered and he felt her relaxing a little bit.

"Good," he answered and started to move, knowing that he would never ever fuck another woman.

Maud was his and he was hers.

He didn't last extraordinary long. Long enough to give her pleasure, that he did, but not much longer. Right after she panted his name he'd spilled his seed into the condom and watched the wolf pack slowly back down into the shadows. He knew he'd never love another woman and the wolf pack accepted the choice of its leader. They would never dare to plague him while he was with his queen. She was his and she was safe. That easy. Arthur took a deep breath and bit gently in her shoulder, and with this gesture of marking the last wolves vanished.

Maud laughed lowly, not knowing that this invisible mark would make her life an easy one. But he knew and that was everything that counted.


End file.
